Just a Lower Case t

I hated my name when I was growing up. It's too weighted for a kid to have, and the teasing started as soon as I entered kindergarten. How kids this young were already familiar enough with Shakespeare to make fun of me still confuses me.

I talked to my parents about the teasing, and they had someone white out my t so that I wasn't harassed every time a substitute teacher took attendance.

I tried to reclaim my name several times before I finally did. I was always accused of being pretentious and having invented my name in an effort to reinvent myself, when all I wanted to do was use my given name.

I have known many people who successfully changed their names to names that had nothing to do with their original name. Often, these names were far more pretentious than mine, but people just went along with the change.

I finally stopped caring and made the switch, though I would never make old friends call me Juliet, though it is s a much better name.

I would, however, really appreciate it if people would stop asking me "wherefore art thou?" It's Juliet who says it to Romeo, not him to her, and I've already heard it a thousand times.

Politically Incorrect

I grew up in a really politically active family.

I was brought to nuclear protests as a child without any idea of what we were protesting. When my parents' friends climbed fences to trespass onto nuclear power plants and were arrested, I thought I would be, too, and this may be the origin of a comparatively politically inactive life.

My sister and brother went onto to get degrees in politics, but I preferred a more escapist degree, opting to study literature at a hideously expensive tiny school.

I admit that I have gone through long periods of not reading the paper. It made me less stressed and angry. I get frustrated by all the canvassers outside of the library who forget they try to get me the sign the same petitions multiple times a day. Once, when I told a man I didn't want to sign his petition, he told me I had issues and yelled at me as I ran down the block. I have no problem admitting I went on to write the organization he was canvassing for an email about the experience and was pleased to observe that particular organization does not canvas near the library anymore.

I am tired of the fur protesters by the library, and don't understand why they aren't tired of chanting the same thing day after day. Plus, I'm annoyed that I'm afraid to wear my new fur coat to work, but I don't want to risk having blood thrown it.

It is older than me, and I feel like That Girl in it. If you also have a fur coat or anything else similarly politically incorrect that you really love, but you are afraid to wear in public, let me know. I will have a party and we can all look fabulous in a safe environment.

Guilty

I was such a huge fan of my cat Ray, possibly the greatest cat whoever lived.

I never meant to get a new cat so soon after he died, but I found Pete in the parking lot of the last library I worked in, and he needed a home. He upgraded his life, moving to Irvington, then to our new house in SE, where he explored the great outdoors once again.

I think he likes men better than women, because he doesn't seem to pay much attention other than when I am in bed. He prefers J., and sometimes I'm jealous. I think he knew I wasn't over Ray.

Recently, he's been sick, and when I am not angry at him for peeing outisde of his litterbox, I am feeling guilty for my distance. I hope this is past us soon, and that it's not too late to be a better mom.

Old and Boring?

Do I really have so little going on in my life that I can't think of anything to write about anymore, or am I just lazy?

I turned 40 a couple of weeks ago, only it didn't seem like I did.

I have never identified as an adult, which is probably why I really love being a children's librarian. But also, it didn't seem like I did, because I spent my birthday at a wedding. It feels like I got off the hook from having a birthday this year, which is actually great, because I wasn't wild about turning 40 anyway.

It blows my mind that I was 15 when my parents turned 40. I remember their fortieth birthdays so clearly, and my dad's in particular. I remember the card my grandma sent him, in which she stated: "And son, 40 isn't that old."

Worse was his birthday party, and the belly dancer his staff hired as a surprise present for him. I was horrified to watch her shake her whole body just a couple of inches away from my father and spent the rest of the evening hiding in the basement with my guinea pigs.